


To Be Cared For

by Arrestzelle



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 22:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5557304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Preston meets a man who saves him in many ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Cared For

**Author's Note:**

> Kept the Sole Survivor nameless, but some of the characteristics of my own SS slipped in like a mention of long, dark locks, brown eyes, muscular body. Just small things like that.

It was hard to recall the last time Preston felt truly cared for. There were small things, like Mama Murphy telling him about another one of her adventurous stories, if only to distract him from his own distraught thoughts of loss and failure. Sturges opening up to him, just a little, and telling him about the awful, rough times in the wasteland before meeting him.

But being _honestly_ cared about? Having someone that would do anything for him, even at the cost of their own well-being? Preston hasn't had that in a long time. In fact... if he hadn't met him when he did, Preston felt like he wouldn't have lasted much longer. After losing everyone, close friends and people he had grown to know and care for, his will to live diminished into nothing, and if he hadn't come to save them from the Raiders at Concord, things would be different. A lot different, and definitely for the worse.

So, sitting on one of the beds that _he_ built just for their settlement, Preston cradles his musket between his knees with the stock placed firmly on the floor, gloved hands curled around the barrel of it as he's overcome with thankfulness. The General is sleeping before him, on the bed parallel to Preston's, curled up in a blanket. He had taken off his bulky armor, so now Preston can see the way the blanket fell upon his muscular body, which rose and fell with each slow breath.

It was strangely serene. Calming. Watching him breathing, sleeping, dreaming. Knowing that the man before him, the only person he knows now that honestly cares about him and would sacrifice many things for the people of the settlement, is resting in good health has him smiling faintly to himself.

A warm sense of adoration and urge to protect blooms in Preston's chest, and he can only assume it's simply because he admires and idolizes the General. There is only a foot of space between the aligned beds, so Preston can easily, albeit bashfully and with a hint of reluctance, reach over and brush some stray, long dark locks away from the other man's warm cheek. Preston pulls his hand away and clasps the barrel of his gun again, feeling a heat surge in his face.

What was he doing? He should be on watch, not touching the General as he sleeps. Shaking his head at himself, Preston rises from the bed with a squeak of springs and holds his musket firmly in his gloved hands as he makes his way out of the (mostly) restored house to begin keeping a look out for unwanted visitors.

 

* * *

 

On a day with a thick, merciless radiation storm, Preston is reminded once again. He's coughing, covering his mouth with a hand as his eyes water. Not only does the radiation cling to his skin and enters his mouth and eyes with am unsettling itching feeling, but it chokes him up in his throat. Radiation was never kind to him, but then again was it ever kind to anyone?

A hand with two pills cupped in a broad palm is suddenly raised before him. Preston feels a heavy hand rest between his shoulder blades. Glancing up with watering eyes, Preston meets warm brown eyes and sees the General looking at him with his eyebrows furrowed, lips in a concerned frown.

“Here, take these. Soon we'll be out of the storm, so just bare with it for a little while longer.”

Nodding gratefully, Preston takes the pills from the other man and then the offered container of purified water. Downing the pills with a gulp of the refreshing water, Preston sighs and then passes it back to the other with a faint smile and a rough, “Thanks.”

The General gives one last pat to his shoulder and then stuffs the Rad-X bottle and purified water back into his pack. Preston wipes at his watering eyes with a sleeve and silently encourages himself to keep going, despite the ache in his legs and the exhaustion settling in his core. He had a leader to follow.

 

* * *

 

Panic rose in Preston like a venomous snake, writhing around in his belly as he pants through gritted teeth, letting out a heaved grunt as he readjusts the injured General against his side, his arm wrapped tight around his waist.

“J-Just give me a second to rest, I'll be good as new,” the man slurs, delirious and hazy from blood loss. Preston knows there's a settlement nearby. Just past the barren trees, across a small irradiated creek. The settlers there can help. He can heal there. Things will be fine. The General will be fine.

“You let yourself get shot up to protect me, so let me do this for you,” Preston insists breathlessly, slightly winded as he hoists the General closer to himself and helped him along the rocky, dusty ground. His heavy, brawny armor was definitely not helping in terms of movement (though it did save his life, Preston can tell that much).

Suddenly tripping up on a tree root, the General stumbles and ends up falling, pulling Preston along with him and making him shout in surprise. Landing on the other man has Preston scrambling off of him in fear of hurting him further. But gazing down at him with a panicked face, brow furrowed and chocolate brown eyes searching his face for signs of pain, he sees him weakly blinking up at Preston with a twitching smirk.

“My pack,” he says, weak and breathless as he begins to unlatch the chest piece of his armor to reveal a heaving chest, hidden below a dark beige coat that was covered with dust and sweat. Preston swallows hard, watching him as he began to unbutton his coat.

“A Stimpak,” the General breathes, managing to weakly tug off his coat, revealing the plain white work shirt underneath. He reeked of sweat and blood, which has Preston flaring his nostrils and opting to breathe through his mouth instead. An overbearing smell of blood made him dizzy. Nodding, Preston reached for his stuffed pack with shaking hands and jerkily yanked open the front pouch where he knew he kept his medical supplies and began searching for one of the Stimpaks.

“I'm not sure how well I can do this,” Preston admits shakily, voice wobbly with panic as he produces one of the needle-like tools. Letting out a deep noise of understanding, the General slowly blinks up at him and says firmly, in a breathless voice, “It'll help, no matter how inexperienced you are. Just stick it in my arm or neck or wherever.”

Preston had only used one of these things a couple times. It was typically just gauze, staples, or whatever he had on hand. So now, as he peeled off his glove for a steadier grip, his hand shook as he brought the needle to the General's flexed arm, at his inner elbow. Gently gripping the other man's wrist to keep his arm steady, Preston pressed the needle at an angle against one of the prominent veins in his arm (he hopes that he's doing it at the right part of his arm) and with a firm push, slides it into his flesh and with a squeeze to the trigger, shoots the medicinal substance into his body.

“Good,” the General murmurs, slow and slurred. Preston sets aside the empty Stimpak container and moves over to the General's head, gently sliding his hands under his broad shoulders to lift him up and prop him in his lap, rather than resting back on the rocky ground. The other man's eyes roll under his eyelids restlessly, though he doesn't open them. Swallowing hard, anxiously, Preston reaches out for his musket and keeps it within reach in case some wandering irradiated bug or wild dog comes their way.

 

For half an hour he sits there, legs aching and chest filled with a suffocating worry and anxiety that has him shaking and nervously brushing back the General's sweaty bangs over and over. Preston managed to shoot down a couple Bloatflies and a molerat from where he sat. The risk of being out in the open like this kept him on edge.

Soon after the half hour mark, the other man finally stirred with a low groan and sluggish, heavy movements. With help from Preston he slowly rises, propping up onto a hand, and looks back at Preston with a disgruntled expression. Offering him a shaky smile, Preston says simply with amusement to hide his staggering amount of concern and relief, “Good morning, sleeping beauty. You feel better?”

 

* * *

 

Stars peek through the open boards of the roof, a pretty picture that repeatedly earns Preston's admiring gaze. He sits together with the General on his bed, atop a ratty blanket, among candles and a variety of books that survived through the years, which the General had gathered through his scavenging.

It started with Preston reading a picture book with interest (it's not like he had much entertainment these days), hunched over with his weathered, dark fingers flipping page after page until the other man took a seat beside him and earned his gaze. Without much of warning, the General asks in a hushed, deep voice with his soft brown eyes fixed on Preston's, “How are we, do you think?”

Occasionally he would ask this, just to get an understanding of where they stand, but this time, Preston blushes and clears his throat a little awkwardly. He shuts the picture book and begins to fiddle with it in his hands as he answers with a quiet voice, “I respect you. You've sacrificed so much for the Minutemen, for the settlement... For me. I can't help but feel I am... blessed to have met you, though I'm not a very religious man.”

The General looks at him silently, gazing at his face. Preston hopes he can't see the anxiety in his eyes, the heat to his face. Instead, he manages to surprise him by reaching up to take off his hat. Tensing up, Preston looks over at him with widened eyes and a racing heart. Setting it aside, the other man gives him a kind smile and says, “I woke up in this world, entirely clueless and lost. But, you were someone that gave me a hand, a hand to guide me through this sudden change. So, you're the one I appreciate, Preston. I'm only giving you what you deserve. You do your best to help others, so I want to do my best to help you.”

Silent, Preston gazes at him with a softening face, feeling his entire body grow warm from his words. It was strange, sitting here with another man and saying such... openly affectionate and emotional things, but Preston finds no reason to end it. So when the other man sets a hand on his cheek and leans in to press a chaste kiss to his mouth, sudden and with a gentle purse of his plump lips against Preston's, Preston doesn't pull away. He closes his eyes and angles his head to return it gladly, kissing him back with a knit brow and warm cheeks, the stars continuing to hang overhead and cast a soft glow of starlight into the room.

Preston _should_ be pulling away to keep this professional, but he found no compelling reason to. Not when this is what he wanted night after night.

**Author's Note:**

> arrestzelle.tumblr.com


End file.
